


In the Course of Time

by writerdot



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen, post-ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:52:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerdot/pseuds/writerdot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This seemed a whole lot more fun an hour ago...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Course of Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is a post-ep for 8x4 "Risky Business."

This seemed a whole lot more fun to you an hour ago, when it was someone else who was doing the damage, when the images of that house breaking apart over you aren't going through your mind in broken fragments.

But now that Adams is gone and you're sitting smack dab in the middle of the wreckage, you have no choice but to let those images come.

It was easy to pretend when you were with Cuddy that you had finally found that balance between who you are and who you could be. That didn't work; it was never going to work, though it was nice while it lasted.

But in one fell swoop, you destroyed everything that might have been when, in a haze of Vicodin usage, you crashed your car through her dining room. As though it was the start of a cascade, everything changed. Now you're stuck finding a new balance between the you that went to prison, and the you who would like to forget it ever happened and move on.

"House."

You’re not startled, but you're surprised it took him this long. Looking up from where you're planted on the floor, your legs stretched out in front of you, cane lying at your side, you see Wilson standing in the doorway adjoining this room to your office. He’s assessing the room in shocked bewilderment.

"What the hell happened?"

You sigh and take another look around for yourself. Not much was left undamaged. Perfect metaphor for your life right now.

Wilson slowly walks further into the room, stepping carefully around the mess.

"House," Wilson says again, standing in front of you, now. You're staring at shiny black shoes and you absently think that they might be new. "Are-what-what's going on?"

"Adams had some anger issues to work out."

You're not looking at his face, but you can hear the surprise in his voice, you know his eyes are wide and his hands are probably on his hips. "Adams did this?"

You finally look at his face. Reaching down, you pull up your pant leg so the ankle monitor is visible. "You think I haven't learned my lesson?"

Wilson sighs. "Considering you're sitting in the middle of it, that's not an unreasonable assumption."

He's got you there.

"And," he continues, "I looked at my credit card account online. You used it to do some trading. For $5,000."

The unspoken _so maybe you haven't learned much after all_ hangs in the air like a suffocating bubble. "I gave it back."

"You could have lost it," Wilson argues.

"I gambled, Wilson.”

With one more shaky exhale, Wilson kicks the broken pieces of that skeleton out of the way, and sits cross-legged in front of your feet. Folding his hands over his ankles, he looks at you speculatively.

"You were counting on me forgiving you for this."

Sometimes, he really scares you with how perceptive he is. You don't say anything, but he takes this, correctly, as an affirmative answer.

He shakes his head in frustration. Or anger. You aren't sure, though you think it might be better for you if it was the former.

"I don't get it, House," he says. "You tell me you like me, want to be friends, but then you do something like this. Have we really been friends all these years because you're counting on my inability to...stay away from you? What would have happened if you had lost it? What if you hadn't been able to give it back?"

That’s…you hadn't honestly thought about that. Once it became clear what you could do to get the some of everything that used to be, the people that are within your reach now, you went at it with a single-minded determination. You were absolutely sure that you would get the money back, because if you did…then you’re getting remnants of your old life back. Changing the changes.

"House," Wilson says. "Would it have been worth it?"

You can't answer that, because at this very moment, you don't know. There is one question, for him, however, that’s now hanging in the forefront of your thoughts.

"What would you have done if you had discovered that money gone and I hadn’t given it back? Would that have been the last straw?"

Wilson blinks, as if that's something _he_ hasn't thought about. "That's not the issue. And I asked you first."

"Would you have stayed," you demand, because, now you know, that if he answers that in the negative, then that's your answer to his question right there.

Wilson takes a deep breath. "I tried."

Now you're confused. "What?"

"When you were gone. I tried to have a life without you, to convince myself that I could. Then you came back. You convinced me you were able to meet me half-way. I...gotta tell you House, when I walked into your office that night you came back, I had no idea what I intended to do. Then your offer floated through my mind, and all of the sudden my fist was flying. But here's the thing, punching you may have floated through my mind a few more than a thousand times over the years, but I never thought I'd act on it. And I did. I realized when I was looking at my credit card account, that when it comes to you, I am a doormat, because all it took was physical violence before we would start pretending that everything was perfectly fine, again."

He says all of this in a low voice, as though if he says it too loud, you'll realize he's spilling his soul and make a break for it, but you can't. Never mind the physical impossibility, but not when it’s clear, that once again, your single-mindedness hurt Wilson. It’s times like these that you discover that you take more advantage of him than you realize.

"No," you say carefully. "It wouldn't have been worth it if I'd lost it."

"Why," Wilson asks, looking genuinely confused. "I already practically admitted that I would have stayed if you had."

"Because that's one more broken link," you answer. "One more resentment you would have toward me."

"I don't-"

"Yeah, you do."

Wilson leans his elbows on his knees and bites his lip. "Not all the time...but there are times..." he places his forehead in his palms and mumbles, "We're so screwed up."

An involuntary chuckle forces its way out of your throat. "No kidding."

You're sure that the noise that comes from Wilson is some kind of laugh, but when he looks at you, his face is serious, tired, and drawn.

"I know who you are," he says. "Among other things, you're a sarcastic jerk who likes to show everyone you’re smarter than them. You, usually, use words to fight people. But...you know me, you know what I need. You know when I'm being an idiot and when I need you to get me to loosen up. I told you that there were good memories…and bad ones. What I didn’t tell you was they’re both in equal measure. I just…sometimes need a reminder that the bad doesn’t outweigh the good.

Once Wilson gets going, now, it doesn’t seem like he can stop. “And I know I lecture and nag you, but it's just because I don't know the best way to help you. I don't, House. I never have. And I just-"

You can’t help but interrupt. "You do help."

"I don't see how."

And you see that’s he’s telling the truth. He doesn’t get how he helps you…and you’ve never told him. "You're sitting in the middle of a mess talking to me instead of running away. You've never given up on me, Wilson. Not even when you should. That...that's what I was counting on. What I've always counted on. It's not that I think you're a doormat...it's that you're the only person who knows what an asshole I am and sticks around." And that scares you, but you're probably going to leave _that_ admission for never.

If Wilson looks surprised that you're spilling your own soul in return (or 95 percent of it, anyway), he doesn't show it, though you know that he realizes that this has only happened a handful of times since you've been friends.

"You're not a _complete_ asshole."

And with that, the air in the room is different, calmer. It's like you've both regressed to what it used to be, should be, and hopefully will be, again. When you look at him, there's a small, careful smile working at the corners of his lips.

You return it with a small grin of your own. "Let's not spread that around."

Wilson brings his knees up, rests his forearms on them and shrugs. “Not making any promises.”

You looks down again at that. “We…we, uh, we okay?”

Wilson gives a dry chuckle. “That right there…the fact that you keep asking me that…I believe you. You don’t think I’m a doormat.”

You’re a little confused again, but you ignore it. “So…”

With a tilt of his head, Wilson regards you and shrugs. “We will be. We always are.”

You nod. As he gets up and helps you do the same, you can’t help but believe him. It’s not as though he’s wrong.

He makes an offer for coffee when you’re both standing again. You agree and things continue to feel a little more normal as you leave the room. It doesn’t take long, once you’re out of the door and moving down the hallway for him to say, “So, you were going to pawn a laser to get your money?”

You stop walking and look at him, see the classic signs of a Wilson-lecture coming…but he hasn’t continued, because after everything you’ve just talked about, you can tell that he’s waiting for you to let him.

With a small smile you keep walking, and as he and his voice follows you into that elevator, you know you’ll be okay eventually.


End file.
